


Reflections

by appending_fic



Series: The Age of Mysteries (Ciphers) [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi | Spirited Away
Genre: Developing Friendships, Feelings, Flashback, Gen, Golden Age, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, References to Death and Violence, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovering from injuries sustained fighting Pitch, Aster relives his past. Meanwhile, Jack, trying to build on their burgeoning friendship, makes a deal with the witch Yubaba to bring Aster back to full strength in time for Easter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Rabbit Run

“Hey, kid, wake up.”

Hellebore groaned and tried to burrow under his blankets. This, however, revealed two facts. One, he was lying on some rough, dusty stone surface. And two, moving sent a cacophony of pains jangling through his body. What muscles weren’t simply sore screamed with any attempt to move them, and the sticky moisture of his makeshift bed suggested there was probably more blood outside his body than he’d like.

Hellebore pried his eyes open. It was blissfully dark; he didn’t know what he’d have done if he had to put up with bright light on top of everything. He couldn’t make out many clear details, or maybe his surroundings were just mounds and lumps of dirt concealing everything beyond them.

“You should see if you can stand.”

Hellebore glanced around, and felt something in his chest ease when he spied the Pooka behind him. Though shorter than Hellebore himself, the Pooka had the proportions of an adult Pooka. He bounded down from his perch atop a shattered boulder to approach Hellebore, movement clearly marked by his gleaming red eyes. His fur was dark - a red or brown, Hellebore couldn’t quite tell. He stopped just short of Hellebore, and tapped his foot impatiently.

“Can you get up?”

“Just give me a second, okay?”

“Not sure we’ve got a second, kid.” A distant sound drifted from distant halls, sending Hellebore’s ears twitching futilely to track the source.

“What’s that?”

“Trouble.” The elder Pooka hopped atop a line of broken stones, stretching as his ears twisted every direction. “What do you remember?”

“I…” Shock. Panic. There was a battle, and blood, screams and a quiet, hurried voice. An embrace. Tears.

“There were...pirates. They attacked our ship. Momma!” Hellebore tried to bolt, but standing quickly sent his head spinning and his side cramping in protest. Bent over, he coughed weakly until he felt he could stand...more slowly this time.

The other Pooka was watching him impassively, although there was sorrow - an old sorrow - in his crimson gaze. “I’m sorry.”

More words weren’t needed, not anymore. Loss was the refrain of the universe, now. His father was lost already - dead or worse at the Battle of Andromeda. His mother, now, too, and though it was no more pain than anyone else had experienced now in the ending of the Golden Age, it washed over Hellebore. He was back on his knees, tears stinging at his eyes, and the salty water making the wounds on his face burn. He wanted to scream, to beg, but his lungs were tight and he could only sob brokenly, the sound insufficient to release the knot in his chest.

“Kid, I know this is hard, but you have to get back up.”

Hellebore shook his head, his sobs skipping into a coughing fit. “I can’t-”

A distant, reedy howl sent a shock down Hellebore’s spine, yanking him to his feet without the intervention of conscious thought. He’d scanned half the room for threats before he had time to start worrying, and by then, adrenaline had all but banished his sorrow - or at least pushed it aside until survival wasn’t his primary concern.

“What _is_ that?”

“Do you remember where you were going? Where you were when the Dream Pirates attacked?”

Dream Pirates?

Memories resurfaced through the haze of his injuries and what was likely an enforced sleep, of men with silver teeth wielding rainbow blades, of blood on the floor. Of empty-eyed masks and his mother’s whispered instructions.

“Kid! Do you know where you _are_?”

Hellebore shook his head, and the other Pooka dropped down in front of him, teeth half-bared.

“Then _think_. Frith gave you a brain.”

Hellebore took a step away from the other Pooka. With his fight-or-flight instincts surging, the verbal assault was escalating the speed of his heart, the desperate urge to _run run run_...

“Who are you? I don’t recognize you from the ship.”

“Now’s not the time to get into it, kid. You were in Dream Pirate space - do you remember that?” Hellebore nodded. “Your ship was dying. Your mother got you into one of the escape pods. Remember?”

Hellebore did. _”It’s a terrible risk, but there’s air in the old fortress. If anyone hears our beacon, they’ll find you.” Thistle bent down and hugged Hellebore; he returned the embrace with all the strength he could manage, hoping that somehow...she would come with him. But she shook her head as she pulled back. “I’m so sorry, Helle - if I went with you, they’d follow, and you wouldn’t have a chance. Alone...you might be able to make it. I love you.”_

His paw went to his neck, where a lead charm hung from a sturdy steel chain. The clasp was closed, the necklace secure. “It was a ruined fortress...steeped in darkness, Momma said.”

“And where there’s darkness, what do you find?”

“Fearlings.” Hellebore could only breathe the word out as he crouched instinctively. His paw clenched around the charm, fingering the clasp. “But I could-”

“No! Come on, boy, _think_! You’re young, untrained. You might be lucky for a bit, but they’d overwhelm you before you could do more than thin their numbers. For this, you’re going to have to think like a Pooka. Whenever they catch you, they will kill you, but first they must _catch you_. Cunning. Full of tricks. That’s our way, boy. Calm yourself down, first; they can track fear, that bit’s no exaggeration.”

Hellebore tried to, fighting down his panic and taking deep breaths until the urge to bolt faded. A wail drifted through the air, but it was by now merely unnerving than panic-inducing.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders; that’ll serve you well. Now, you’ve got to keep on your toes, find somewhere safe. Remember what your parents taught you - keep the wall at your back, keep your mouth shut, keep your eyes and ears open, and listen to your tail.”

Hellebore nodded, following the second piece of advice. Others might have chafed at being given a lecture you’d give a kit, but a fate _worse_ than death awaited Hellebore if his enemies caught him. And then he took another deep breath to focus. The world was full of dangers, but Frith had given the Pooka ears. eyes, a nose, and even a tail that could alert them to that danger, and a brain to keep them out of danger.

The rubble around Hellebore were the ruins of an exterior room, the remnants of a Pooka spaceship mostly blocking the opening. The echoes of the howls and yips suggested a wide, open space nearby, and that the source of them was still distant. It didn’t mean there weren’t any nearby, but that’s what his nose and eyes were for.

At a silent nod from his companion, Hellebore slipped along the rubble scattered through the room until he came to an opening in the wall, or, rather, the shattered remains of a door. Hellebore stopped at the edge and scanned both ways for danger. When nothing proved immediately dangerous, he chose a direction at random.

The hall outside was marred by signs of violence. The walls were scratched and burned, and an old metallic tang spoke of bloodshed. Portraits lined the hallways, but each had been defaced beyond recognition. Those that weren’t shredded or burned were covered in dark stains that seemed to have soaked through the canvas. Hellebore could see glimpses of gold cloth on the figures depicted, but nothing of faces or forms.

“Man, someone hated this place.”

“Or at least wanted nobody to remember the people who lived here.” The elder Pooka pulled on a scrap of canvas showing only a single hazel eye.

Hellebore continued along to corridor, ignoring many branching paths for the sake of a distant echo of a larger space, and the instinct that it would offer more routes for escape. The voices of the distant Fearlings remained so, creating an unsettling backdrop to Hellebore’s trip, even though it seemed certain they weren’t nearby.

A few more turns brought Hellebore to a room, a massive chamber carved from dark stone. His hall opened onto a wide balcony that wound its way along the three sides of the room, accessible to the ground level by a single staircase. The staircase was framed by two statues, humanoid figures shattered to obscurity, and a triangular or star-shaped crest rose above it, the surface burned and scratched such that no detail was visible.

A part of Hellebore had expected to see the remnants of some ancient battle below - signs of the death that had visited this place so long ago. But there were no bodies, no skeletons, nothing to suggest that any living creature had died here.

“Don’t let your guard down, kid. Remember who ravaged this place.”

Fearlings. The wounds inflicted by them consumed the spirit with fear. Victims took their own life rather than wait for the corruption to overtake them. To find a battlefield with no evidence that any of the soldiers had done so, if only to limit the growth of the Fearling army, was worrying. It meant every soldier who fell did so because their soul had become darkness.

“Why would they let this happen?” Hellebore whispered.

“Perhaps they were too proud to believe they could fall. Perhaps they weren’t given a chance. Or maybe they didn’t know what the touch of the Fearlings did.”

“But how-”

“Everything has a beginning. Everything must start somewhere. Or did you think the Fearlings incarnated from nothingness across the universe?”

Hellebore opened his mouth to protest, but a moment’s thought made him rethink it. Another made him draw closer to the elder Pooka. Certainly, everything did have to start somewhere, but the thought of standing in a place with enough darkness to have birthed the Fearlings gave him an uneasy chill. The howls of the Fearlings came closer, causing Hellebore to tense as his heart leapt to racing.

“Okay, this is not ideal,” his companion muttered. 

A twitch of his ears, and Hellebore realized the cries were coming from several directions. 

“We can’t fight them.”

“But-”

“You have to trust me, kid. You don’t have a weapon - you have a tool. And it’ll tell the Fearlings exactly where you are. If you had a starlight blade…”

But the fortress had been taken long before people knew how starlight and moonlight blades could harm Fearlings.

“You can’t fight. You can’t hide; once they get your scent, there’s no concealing yourself. But you can run. You can always run.”

Hellebore strained his ears. There were three doors visible downstairs, and the cries of the Fearlings echoed from each. The howls seemed to fill the passage behind Hellebore, and that left only the second-story door on the far end of the balcony that was relatively safe.

Hellebore bounded forward, keeping close to the left wall to cover one side; his companion followed as the howls grew louder. The last thing Hellebore saw before he darted through the only available escape route was a thin, humanoid creature with as much substance as a shadow stepping through the door he’d come from.

And then Hellebore was sprinting through the broken halls; he had little time to devote to examining them, but saw little more than the same devastation he’d seen earlier. At every juncture he had only a second to guess if the path would take him to a dead end or more space to run in; so far, he’d been lucky, but the Fearlings behind him were tireless, and he was certain he was running out of space to run in.

“Up or down?”

“What?”

“Up or down?” Hellebore’s companion demanded again. Hellebore was rapidly approaching a stairwell; no hallways or likely doorways nearby offered any other escape route.

“Up!” Hellebore began a frantic dash up the stairs, certain he had close to a minute’s lead on the Fearlings. They didn’t move fast, just inexorably. The stairway ran a wide circuit in a gentle slope, meaning that a few minutes of running left Hellebore uncertain how far he’d climbed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he found the stairs were an extradimensional space, if he had the time to consider it later.

And then Hellebore stopped outside a door on the right, reaching out a paw to brush it against the sigils etched into the door. “Come on!” He yanked the door open and darted inside. “Close the door behind you!”

“I can’t, kid.”

“That door isn’t going to do anything to keep us safe if it’s not closed!”

“Listen to me, kid: _I can’t close it_.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Hellebore hopped back to close the door, latch and bar it. And then he turned back to his companion - the ghost or spirit or what-have-you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were...whatever you were?”

“Frith gave you a brain, didn’t he?” the other Pooka retorted. “You think I’d let you stumble around like this if I could _carry_ you?” The other Pooka’s entire frame was shaking, and his eyes were tearing. “You think I’d sit back and watch my people dying - or worse - by inches?”

Hellebore’s ears drooped, and he took an unthinking step toward the other Pooka - or Pooka spirit - before he remembered he couldn’t exactly hug him. He instead settled for offering the other Pooka a smile he hoped looked apologetic.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little overwrought. I just…” He offered the inner door of the room a cautious glance. The Fearlings didn’t seem to have caught up yet, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to see if the wards set around the room - clearly someone’s workshop - had held up. They were meticulous in their construction, carved inside and out, both to keep things out...and keep things in.

“Kid. I think you need to take a look at this.”

“Give it a second.”

“No, you need to look _now_.”

Hellebore turned, noticing for the first time what the room really looked like. It looked like the sitting room of someone’s suite, except that the furniture had been shoved against the walls, and most of the floor was taken up by-

“Oh.”

An annulus divided in twelve pieces dominated the space; each segment contain an arcane sigil, and at the center of the diagram was a triangle inside of which was inscribed another circle. The image was painted in dark brown - given the nature of the diagram, likely blood - and had none of the precision of the wards set about the room.

There was no sign of the person who’d drawn the Gate of Truth, which was just as well. Even trapped in a fortress infested with Fearlings, with no defense and no way out, Hellebore couldn’t imagine how the Gate of Truth could do anything but make things worse. People who used it had a distressing tendency to end up dead, insane, or worse. Hellebore’s mother had used it as an object lesson about how there _were_ things Pooka was not meant to know - or at least ways they weren’t meant to go about learning it.

“It’s still the safest place in this building...I think, as long as we say out of the circle.”

The other Pooka, circling the Gate of Truth cautiously, gave Hellebore a narrow glare. “You wanna sit in here with...that?”

“It beats letting the Fearlings rip my soul to shreds...doesn’t it?”

The Pooka was silent for a tense minute before he at last nodded. “Just about. Just don’t...do anything.”

The Fearlings chose that moment to arrive, their slamming into the door accompanied with countless howls of anticipation. The noises changed to ones of confusion when they discovered the door and walls of the room were thoroughly warded by an expert, albeit one who had been foolish enough to invoke the power of the Gate of Truth in a misguided quest for knowledge.

But the mere fact that the Fearlings were unable to pass through the door, or even touch it, wasn’t enough to dissuade them. Fear isn’t rational; it won’t give up just because you know there’s nothing to be afraid of.

So they continued to howl and scrabble at the door, not so much seeking a way into the room as seeking a way into Hellebore’s mind. Maybe that’s what had happened to the creator of this room - driven mad by the ceaseless assault of the Fearlings, he had turned to anything that might offer a way out.

After only a few minutes, Hellebore was beginning to understand the poor soul.

When he looked up to seek some comfort from his companion, Hellebore found the room empty.

“Hey, you? Mysterious spirit Pooka?” Hellebore felt his chest tighten uncomfortably, and his ears fall, with every moment of silence. “Did you check out the other rooms?”

When further exploration uncovered no other Pooka, Hellebore sank slowly against the wall furthest from the exterior door, allowing him to watch both the door and the Gate of Truth for suspicious activity. He tried humming to keep his mind off of the mindless droves of soul-eating monsters outside and the nightmaring powers of the Gate of Truth inside, but it wasn’t much comfort, so he let the howls of the Fearlings become the only sound in the room.

He wasn’t certain if this was worse than dying aboard the ship with his mother. He’d had hope, a brief feeling that maybe everything was going to be okay. To have that hope so thoroughly dashed...he thought it might have been worse to die in here.

He was going to have to take his own life, Hellebore realized. He wasn’t going to become a Fearling, or something worse, like General Pitchiner. So he scrambled to his feet and began going through drawers looking for something sharp enough to draw blood. It was unnerving to hear the demons outside and feel that there was something worse inside with you. And that, he realized with a jolt, that was what had likely driven the absent creator to risk everything.

Hellebore took an unsteady step toward the circle, the words rising in his mind, those that would open the Gate of Truth to the powers that lay beyond it. He could face death alone, or do _something_.

“Oh, come on, Helle. You’re being stupid.” He took an uncertain step back, shocked at the sound of his own voice. Certainly, he knew he’d been the one to speak, but the words felt...strange. Unthought-for.

“Stupid?” he mused, letting the word wrap around him, a _voice_ , and a familiar one, softening some of the edges of his despair. “You’re acting like one of those kits in stories you always hated. You never understand why they do the stupid things everyone tells them are bad ideas. And maybe you do now, but that doesn’t excuse it.”

“It’s still stupid,” he concluded. “It’s what you do when you don’t have any hope left.” And maybe it was just as stupid, but Hellebore still had hope. His mother had told him there would be a distress signal, that the fortress was somewhere he could stay safe until rescue arrived.

It was a stupid, childish hope, that his mother had really known enough to keep him safe from monsters, that someone out there cared enough to descend to a haunted planet looking for potential survivors, that they wouldn’t just leave when they found it overrun with Fearlings.

But it was all he had to lure himself to sleep while the Fearlings kept launching themselves at the door in the hopes of bringing it down.

He woke with a paw clenched around his mother’s locket; he loosed it carefully before standing. Opening that can of worms wouldn’t be quite as bad an idea as using the Gate of Truth, but the other Pooka was right - opening it would expose Hellebore to risks that would almost certainly make the situation worse.

Something filtered through Hellebore’s thoughts; he cocked his head, trying to pick out what it was.

It took a few moments before he realized the howls of the Fearlings had changed. There were fewer of them outside the door, and something very exciting to the rest of them seemed to be going on some distance away. Howls mixed with yelps of pain, and Hellebore’s heart soared. Someone else was in the fortress, and he was willing to accept anyone, as long as they considered themselves enemies of the Fearlings.

It took a moment to realize, however, that the sounds were moving further away. His potential rescuers weren’t going to find him, not unless he did something desperate.

He only had two things he could do here, and he’d been taught always to consider the Gate of Truth the inferior option.

Hellebore raised the locket and unclasped it, allowing the Light of Creation to spill forth.

The fortress fell silent for a single moment. The Light of Creation was more than light - it was Life and Hope. Mere walls of stone and metal couldn’t obscure it - the Pooka spirit had been smart to warn him against revealing it earlier, when nothing would stand between him and the Fearlings who would consume it if they could. But safe in a room warded against darkness, Hellebore could take the risk, because any living being of the light could see it, too. Luck, it seemed, was with him, because when the Fearlings started up again, sprinting toward the Light, the faint sounds of combat seemed to start drawing closer, as well.

Hellebore pressed his back against the far wall of the room as the noises of fighting grew both closer and more violent. Of course, with the Fearlings trying to get at the Light of Creation, anyone else going in the same direction would face an increasing mass of Fearlings. If they were anything but the most hardened warriors, or knowledgeable enough to understand what it would mean to leave the Light so close to the Fearlings, they would give up long before they reached him.

But Hellebore couldn’t do anything to change what they decided to do, so he slipped back down to the floor to wait, stomach in knots as the seconds, the minutes dragged on. Of course they could all die, and he’d be in as much trouble as if they’d given up.

So he could only sit, helpless, listening to the sounds of battle, hoping that the Fearlings’ enemies had the drive, and skill, to find him.

Even waiting for it, Hellebore was startled by the pounding on the door of the room. He did his best to scramble back; even knowing the Fearlings couldn’t get through the door, he couldn’t quite accept that something terrible wasn’t coming through.

And then the door crashed open; two bolts of energy lanced through the air, barely missing Hellebore’s skull, and even then only because he ducked when the door opened.

“Whoa, hey! Hold your fire! That’s not a Fearling; it’s another Pooka!”


	2. Caretaker

Jack didn’t wake up that morning intending to break into the Warren. It was simply that when he discovered Bunny had forced himself out of North’s care less than two days after _dying_ , he was so absolutely furious and intent on making sure that stupid rabbit didn’t drop dead _again_ due to simple neglect of his well-being, that breaking into the Warren was the only reasonable solution.

He tried to avoid Australia as much as possible; even hearing from Bunny that Guardians and other spirits were largely indestructible without the intervention of magic, the sheer number of poisonous, venomous, ferocious beasts made him exceedingly nervous. 

It was, nevertheless, the only way to get to the Warren without Bunny’s help, so Jack let the late winter wind carry him to the secluded glen that Bunny had grudgingly shown Jack right after their first victory over Pitch. It was a painted rock wall, red stone covered in interlocking images of flowers and vines. It was the visitor’s entrance, because Bunny himself could get to the Burrow from anywhere that had solid ground. Visitors had to find this door and knock.

Well, _other_ visitors had to knock. Jack suspected the other Guardians could sneak in if they wanted, too, but they weren’t trickster spirits, and such tactics weren’t expected of them. So Jack went to work on the lock to the door, but a moment before he managed it, the rock wall opened as if the stone had never been there, revealing a grim-looking woman. With the voluminous bun in which she’d pulled her hair, she managed to be almost as tall as Jack. Her head made up one-third of her height, making her wrinkled, large-nosed face her most prominent feature - either that or the single wart sitting at the center of her forehead. Her narrowed, hazel eyes were framed by purple lids and wide lashes, and her hands were heavy with gems. Even if Jack didn’t know about this woman, he would have been wary of her; her body was heavy with magic, and her gaze too watchful and knowing.

“Yubaba-san!”

The woman’s lips curled up into a smile that was not comforting at all. “Just Yubaba will be fine...Jack. We are colleagues, after all - spirits of a feather.”

Jack wasn’t sure if she meant in terms of power (which he doubted) or as tricksters, but he tried to stammer a reply. The woman’s smile grew, obviously able to sense Jack’s discomfiture. “Now, what brings you to the Warren? I hope you weren’t planning on taking advantage of Aster’s little ailment to make trouble for him.”

“Ah - no! I was just...worried about him?”

“Is that right?” Yubaba’s smile grew wider. “The notorious trickster Jack Frost worried about a poor little bunny? You’ve caused quite a lot of trouble for me over the years; I’m not certain I should give you the chance to cause more trouble for Aster.”

“Hey! I’m a Guardian, now! And Bunny’s my friend!”

“Well, be that as it may, Aster is too ill to take visitors.”

Yubaba raised her hand, as if to close the door, and Jack darted under her arm and into the Burrow.

“Hey!” Yubaba tapped a fingernail against the ring on her right thumb, and her whole hand began to glow.

Jack did the only thing he could think of at the moment, and tossed a snowball at Yubaba’s face. She sneezed three times in rapid succession, and when she composed herself, her smile had a slightly less venomous edge to it.

“You must understand, Aster is in quite a bad way. Even a spirit as powerful as him cannot easily recover from what he’s been through. In fact, in all the world, only I have the skills to nurse him back to health.” She gestured negligently, and the door closed behind her, leaving Jack and Yubaba sealed in a tunnel that could have been like any of the other traveling tunnels Jack had been in. “I suppose if I let you see he’s alive, it’ll keep the rest of his friends from barging in at all hours. Come on.”

She pushed past Jack and hurried down along the tunnel. Jack flew along after her, finding the air within the Warren not nearly as stagnant as he would have expected. In fact, it smelled of fresh-turned earth and growing grasses, a clean spring scent that made the underground cavern feel like a meadow open to the air. 

Trailing after Yubaba, Jack decided to do some checking up. Yubaba might not have been an evil spirit, but she was selfish and tricky and not known for her altruism.

“So, what brought you down here?”

“I’m about the only spirit Aster would trust to treat him when he’s in a state like this. So when his message came along, I dropped everything to get down to the Warren.”

Jack kept moving if only to keep from revealing his shock. _Nothing_ Yubaba had said made any sense; he wouldn’t trust Yubaba as far as he could throw her, and even if he did trust her to help him, she wasn’t the type to drop everything to run and help someone.

“What do you get out of it?”

Yubaba chuckled. “I should know you can’t fool a trickster! Of course I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Aster keeps me very well supplied in exchange for these home visits.”

“Supplied?”

“The Easter Bunny can grow things with skill and care unmatched by any other creature. He grows some things that have been lost to the outside world. Herbs and flowers of medicinal nature. Not to mention some _very_ fine tobacco.” Her grin grew a little self-satisfied. “I have similar arrangements with the other Guardians, which is something you might want to consider some day.”

Jack shrugged noncommittally, at the very least because he didn’t know what he could trade to Yubaba to get her to be willing to drop everything and jet halfway across the world just to take care of him. It did make him feel less irritated with the other Guardians not seeming more concerned about Bunny’s disappearance, and marginally better about letting her run around in Bunny’s Warren.

_Marginally_. Yubaba was notorious for seeking a way to gain from every situation, which meant letting her wander around unescorted in Bunny’s home was bound to have dire consequences.

That Bunny had decided to allow her to do so was a clear testament to how ill he was.

“Sounds like an awful lot of work for a few herbs, though.”

Yubaba snorted. “For what he’s paying, it isn’t.”

Jack hummed thoughtfully. “But you didn’t even bring your apprentice along. It seems like you’re making more work for yourself.”

“For one, I don’t have an apprentice anymore. And for another, I’m the only one who has leave to enter this place.”

Jack didn’t buy that second point; if Yubaba still had her apprentice, she’d send him in her place. He didn’t doubt that she’d managed to lose her apprentice, though. 

“It still sounds like a lot of work.”

“If you think I’m going to abandon a paying client just because it’s a little work…”

“I wasn’t saying anything like that! You just seem like you might want some extra hands. I mean, it wouldn’t do to abandon your bath house entirely just to take care of one person.”

“Hm…” She stared at Jack thoughtfully, looking, he was certain, for traps and tricks. At last she nodded. “Very well. You can be my apprentice.”

“What?”

Yubaba produced a scroll of parchment. She unrolled it with a flick of her wrist, revealing a dense block of text with a line for a signature at the bottom. “You can be my apprentice and help me with my work with Aster. The terms are fairly standard; you just need to sign.”

Jack took the parchment and tried to read the contract, a twisting mass of words and self-referential clauses. Only the occasional repeat of the phrase ‘eternal servitude’ made much of any sense.

He considered, but only for a moment, that trying to trick his way out of eternal servitude to Yubaba might be a good idea. “Is there another way I could help out without selling myself into slavery?”

Yubaba sighed. “I suppose.” She tugged the contract back and slipped it into a pocket on her dark blue dress. “You’d be surprised how many people fall for that.” She gave Jack a tiny smile, one that reminded him of some of the cannibal winter spirits.

They then stepped out into the Warren proper, the vibrant green grasses growing on rolling hills, the paint river winding through it. A gentle yellow light suffused the scene, creating the warmth Jack had remembered from his first time in the place.

“You’re still going to have to do whatever I tell you to, and no backtalk. I don’t have time to explain every little thing, not if you’re supposed to be saving me time.”

Jack nodded, even though there was no way he was going to do _everything_ Yubaba ordered him to. Yubaba could only be trusted to hold up her end of a bargain; if she could find a way to get something out of Bunny, or Jack, in the interim, she’d do so.

“So first, let’s check on our patient. He’s in a bad way - died at least twice in the same day.”

Jack tried to keep himself composed; he’d known that Bunny’s nature could let him cheat death, and that in his fight against the traitorous Bilberry, he’d died and dragged himself back to life to save them from Pitch. That he’d died twice, either during his battle or as a result of the wounds he’d sustained in his fight with Pitch, was news, and unwelcome news at that.

Bunny’s house, as it turned out, was something as homey as Jack would have presumed from a spring spirit, and a rabbit at that. It seemed to be made of packed earth or sod, a one-story house about thirty feet along. A few windows were set along the front of the home, circular and decorated with curtains in bright, pastel colors. Yubaba entered through the arch of the front door, moving easily as if she’d been in Bunny’s home a thousand times before.

The thought that she might have, that Bunny had died many times since before Jack ever met him, set a painful twinge in his chest. He’d only just made a real connection with the Pooka, opened up a real chance for them being friends. The possibility of losing him - losing any of the few friends he’d made in the past five years - _hurt_.

The inside of Bunny’s home was homey, or would have been, if not for the immense clutter. Art supplies, books, dirty dishes, and piles of cloth covered almost every surface. “Your first job will be to clean the kitchen, so I have the space to prepare Aster’s infusions.” Yubaba swept through the kitchen, which had a higher concentration of dirty, dusty, and unwashed dishes than the other rooms. She led Jack through a few twisting tunnels to a cool, dark room containing a pile of blankets, a small end table, and a large, unconscious Pooka.

Bunny’s fur was thinning, and in some places torn off; Jack shuddered at the memory of the gaping wounds Bunny’d been sporting when he’d arrived to save them. He was unhealthily thin, and his breathing was irregular.

Jack must have made some sound, because Yubaba patted Jack’s shoulder.

“I know spirits well, Jack, and he’s in no danger of dying. Again.”

“How...many times have you done this for him?”

Yubaba gave Jack a sidelong glance. “Aster is a reckless beast; he has too much to fight for, and not enough to live for.”

“And that means?”

“Part of my agreement forbids sharing such information,” Yubaba replied. “But I think you could safely determine that the answer is...many times.”

Jack reached out a hand toward Bunny; he stopped before he could touch the Pooka, uncertain if it would hurt him. “You’re sure he’ll be okay?”

“With my expertise? Of course.”

\---

Everyone had all but collapsed when they’d returned from the Fortress of House Illuminov. Feverfew, however, enlisted Aster’s help in carrying the Pooka they’d found in one of the towers back to the sickbay. The boy had collapsed when they’d found him and his paw was still clutched around the locket he’d been holding.

There’d been some hurried discussion before deciding not to try and get the locket away from him; if it was, as all appearances suggested, the Light of Creation, it was now safe in Pooka hands. If it wasn’t, the risks of messing around with unknown magical artifacts were enough to keep them from taking it, although they had forced the locket closed.

Feverfew directed Aster to deposit the boy onto an operating table, and began work almost immediately, wrapping a monitor around the boy’s wrist to keep track of his vital signs.

Aster backed away automatically when Feverfew began her work, but not too far. He’d been the first one to see the Pooka cowering in the room, the sole survivor of the _Thlayli_. As a result, he felt a sense of responsibility for the boy’s well-being.

Truth be told, he corrected, as he settled on a nearby table to watch Feverfew work, he had a whole lot more responsibility for this moment. He’d pushed a little more than he should have to get Commander Statice to investigate beyond the dead remains of the _Thlayli_ in the hopes of finding a survivor. Luckily, he hadn’t had to push once they’d discovered the fortress overrun with Fearlings. The war against Kozmotis Pitchiner was more of a rout than a war, now; seeing a place where they might have a chance to strike back at the Fearlings had appealed to them all.

But still, it meant the kid was here because of Aster, and Aster wasn’t going to leave until he was certain the kid would pull through.

After a few minutes, Feverfew glanced up from her work. “If you’re going to be staring at me, you might as well come along and help.”

Aster bit back the protest that helping Feverfew wasn’t in his job description, but neither was sitting around watching her work, so she had him there. Besides, given the aftermath of the battle of the _Thlayli_ , and the casualties they’d inflicted on the Fearlings, it wasn’t likely they’d have a need for the most junior cadet aboard for a while.

So Aster hopped down and stepped up to Feverfew’s side.

“First, grab me that bag of clear fluid; he’s a bit dehydrated, and we need to make sure he’s fine no matter how long he sleeps.”


	3. Work

It took an entire afternoon to clean Bunny’s kitchen to meet Yubaba’s specifications, and three days to clean it to meet Jack’s. Bunny, it seemed, had almost no concern for his well-being and the state of his home, as evidenced by the fact that most of the three-day cleaning process involved tracking down every plate, utensil, and cup Bunny owned in order to ensure the clean kitchen involved enough dishware to eat off of.

He completed this work alongside performing the various tasks Yubaba deemed him capable of. This mostly involved feeding Bunny pungent broth and various potions Yubaba had prepared, making sure his breathing and pulse were improving, and other unenviable tasks. Stumbling out of the workshop to the Warren had apparently taken all of Bunny’s strength, because he didn’t wake during the entire process.

At the end of three days, Yubaba appeared to have decided Jack was capable enough to take on more responsibility.

“Stir this until it just begins to thicken,” she’d order of the broth she prepared. Jack, who’d helped cook back before he’d died (maybe? he still wasn’t certain about the mechanics), mastered this task quickly. Then, “mix one part of this with two parts of that”. And, “boil down this to half and mix it with this cooled mixture; stir it twice.”

Five days into Bunny’s care, Yubaba decided it was acceptable for her to take most of the evening hours off. “As long as you don’t get lost trying to clean up the rest of his house, you should be able to keep him alive.”

That first night was lonely and stressful; without Yubaba present, Jack realized that his original idea of making sure Bunny was okay would have required him to care for the Pooka on his own, without even the barest trace of expertise. Now that he had that iota of skill, Jack was terrified to leave Bunny alone, and spent the entire evening perched on a stool next to the nest of pillows Bunny used as a bed, watching him breathe.

When Yubaba found Jack there the next morning, she gave him a long, measured stare. At last, she nodded. “You’re not any good to anyone if you’re exhausted. Get some sleep and some fresh air.”

Jack tried to sleep; he wandered the tunnels of the burrow, looking for an empty room he might be able to lay down in, but all he found were rooms as cluttered as the kitchen, or worse. And so instead of sleeping, or following Yubaba’s advice to get some fresh air, Jack began cleaning. He had no excuse except that leaving, knowing this mess was here, would drive him absolutely nuts. He would lose sleep, wake up nights knowing that Bunny was wallowing in filth.

So Jack spent much of the day, the time not spent attending to Bunny’s medicines or needs, washing, drying, and organizing. By the time dusk approached (he still couldn’t figure out what caused the day-night cycle in the Warren), he’d made a substantial dent in the complete disaster that was Bunny’s home.

Jack had also made a startling discovery. Under the furniture, art supplies, weapons, clothing, and books, there was surprisingly little else in Bunny’s home. He’d half-expected the Warren to be covered with murals. He’d thought maybe there would be pots of indoor flowers or weird alien art.

Instead, the house was full of the tools of Bunny’s work. This far from Easter, there weren’t even any eggs underfoot.

In the end, he drifted to the door of Bunny’s room, desperate to find some mark Bunny had tried to make on this house. Yubaba was sitting just inside on a stool; she glanced up at Jack when he entered.

“You’ve been busy.”

“Yeah.” Jack stepped inside, taking a surreptitious scan of the room. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing personal in the space, only the furniture and Bunny’s bed. “I thought Bunny might like seeing the place clean.”

“Hm. He likes it dirty,” Yubaba replied. “A certain amount of filth confuses evil spirits.”

“Yeah, but…” Jack swallowed nervously. It didn’t seem appropriate to voice his concerns about Bunny’s mental state with Yubaba, even though she seemed to know more about it than Jack would have expected. He didn’t feel comfortable enough with Bunny to suggest the Pooka was...lonely, or depressed, or whatever to his _face_ , much less to other people. “It seems a little stark.”

“Not to my taste, certainly. But Pooka do things differently.”

Jack doubted Pooka really kept their burrows so bare and lifeless. He was certain Yubaba knew that, and was trying to manipulate him into...something.

“Well, if he wants it messy, he can put things back the way he likes it when he wakes up.” Jack offered the sleeping Bunny a quick look. It had been nearly a week, and while Bunny didn’t look like he was near death anymore, he had barely moved.

“Admiring my handiwork, boy? Looks pretty good for an eons-old space rabbit, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know; can we do anything about the Sleeping Beauty bit?”

Yubaba chuckled. “One suggestion comes to mind.”

Jack hated blushing; aside from the embarrassment, it made his cheeks turn an unattractive pale violet. Unfortunately, there was no concealing it from Yubaba, who cackled. “Shut up! I’m not going to kiss Bunny!” He paused, glancing at the slow rise and fall of Bunny’s chest. “Would it really work?”

Yubaba’s smile took on a sharp edge as she rose and drifted to Jack’s side. “If you love him, it would. Of course, there are other ways. My medicine can only do so much, of course. Magic, though, that could help.”

“Then why haven’t you been using any?”

“Because it’s very difficult to work my magic on an unwilling target, or one whose full name I don’t know. An unconscious target who’s never told me his first name fits neither condition.”

“Oh.” Jack took a step closer to Bunny, his heart sinking. He obviously couldn’t consent for Bunny, and unless ‘E’ was Bunny’s actual first name, Jack couldn’t share Bunny’s full name with Yubaba. “Well, I guess we’re just going to have to wait.”

\--

Aster had never really considered how much work medical care was until he was responsible for taking care of one patient. Once she was certain the boy wasn’t in immediate danger, Feverfew had given Aster the task of watching his vitals, making sure he stayed hydrated, and otherwise handling his care while she looked after the exhausted and wounded soldiers from the assault on the Illuminov fortress.

The first thing Feverfew did was settle Aster down in front of the monitor next to the boy. “Keep an eye on this.”

He tapped the screen carefully. “Heart rate?”

“Sort of. The band on his wrist handles those vitals; it’ll flash red if there’s a problem. This is tracking his adrenaline. If it spikes and there’s no obvious stressors, it might mean he’s succumbing to Fearling infection. If that happens, you call me.”

Aster swallowed nervously, glancing at the sleeping Pooka. The boy hadn’t more than twitched since they’d taken him in; he didn’t _look_ like he was infected by Fearlings, but if he were...Feverfew would be the one responsible for making sure he passed peacefully, and didn’t move on to destroy the entire ship.

Feverfew brushed a gentle paw along Aster’s head. “It is bitter work, to be sure, but he would not thank us allowing his spirit to be consumed by darkness. Watch him, comfort him. Pray, if you think it would help. If he is lucky, and strong, there will be no concern.”

Aster settled next to the boy’s bed, watching the monitor fixedly as ordered. The screen was dark, interrupted at irregular intervals with a circle blinking on the screen. The circle cycled between a medium-tone green and blue, soothing colors that were a counterpoint to the steady beeps marking the boy’s heartbeats. If it were just the two of them, Aster might have been lulled to sleep. However, Feverfew’s work in the background provided just enough distraction to keep Aster awake, and his focus on the unconscious Pooka. The boy’s fur was pale, almost white, but just dark enough that the white branching patterns stood out against it. Standing, he would likely be taller than Aster, though he had a build more suited for a scholar, slender, almost gangly, limbs folded tight against his body.

Before the first hour was over, Aster had to pull his paw back before he brushed it across the boy’s forehead a dozen times. Even if he was responsible for the boy’s well-being, touching him seemed...weird. It was enough to check his vital signs, making sure there had been no change in the other monitor, and make sure the intravenous hydration was secure.

The job, however, left Aster with too much to think. And with too many forbidden topics in his own history, that only left the boy, a lost child abandoned on a haunted planet beneath the aftermath of a space battle that destroyed two ships and dozens of lives. He would wake up lonely and confused, surrounded by soldiers and a shaky cadet barely out of training.

Aster glanced up from his vigil; Feverfew was engrossed in paperwork, but after a moment, she glanced up, lips quirked up in a gentle smile. He wondered if she would have set Aster to watch the boy even if he hadn’t been eager to do so, in the hopes Aster would be best served to help him when he woke.

His paw strayed to the boy’s ears, certain now that it couldn’t cause any harm. And even if the boy didn’t need the contact...Aster did. It seemed more likely every day they were doomed, that they would all die...if they were lucky. Only House Lunanoff still stood, and its power was stretched thin across the worlds that had yet to fall to the darkness. The scout ship _Zorrah_ was one of many similar ships sent out to find some safe haven, some place away from the Fearlings. Aster knew in his heart there was no safe haven anywhere, even sitting next to someone who had the Light of Creation in his hands. After all, the Light hadn’t done anything to save the _Thlayli_ , or the people aboard.

Aster shot the boy’s clenched paw a sharp glare. Magical artifacts were always tricky things, and now that he’d got the idea in his head, he couldn’t help wondering if the Light considered the boy on the bed only a vessel to ensure its own safety.

It would make trying to pry the Light away from the boy a worse idea than they’d imagined it could be.

In the end, Aster scooted a little closer, taking the boy’s free paw. He couldn’t say anymore if he wanted to comfort the boy - that is, the _other_ boy, the other _child_ \- or to make himself feel better about being a million light years from his homeland and the family he had left.


	4. Awakening

Jack waited until a little after midnight, three hours after Yubaba left, before he decided to do his part in making sure Bunny got better.

Yubaba hadn’t said _romantic_ love was what was required to wake Bunny - so Jack presumed any love would do. And what three years had started, the tumultuous adventure in Gravity Falls, and the efforts of Mabel Pines, had ended. A mere similarity in goals hadn’t been enough, nor had the smoothing over of various hurts in the time when Jack and Bunny hadn’t been on the same team. But finally seeing eye-to-eye, recognizing a similarity in history and nature, had given Jack an opportunity to see Bunny without all the stupid baggage he’d built up over the years.

So a little after midnight, the witching hour, Jack bent down and pressed a gentle kiss against Bunny’s cheek.

When he stepped away, cheeks flushed, he was at first worried it hadn’t worked. But then one of Bunny’s ears twitched and his eyes fluttered open.

“Wha - Snowflake? Where’s Yubaba?”

It was easier to take the sharp tone of Bunny’s demand remembering he’d just woken from a week-long coma, and that Bunny was paying Yubaba a _lot_ to be the one caring for him. It didn’t mean Jack had to let it go without comment, though.

“You don’t think I make a cute nurse? Yubaba was very enthusiastic about it.” He grinned at Bunny, earning a bewildered look that suggested Bunny had actually lost the energy he needed to be a grumpy-puss. It took the fun out of teasing him, so Jack decided to let up, handing Bunny a glass of water from the bedside table. “She thought I could hold down the fort while she checked up on her bath house.”

“Hm.” Bunny sipped at the glass, holding it carefully with both paws. “And how’d she shanghai you into lending a hand?”

“I asked to help when I found her answering your door, at least when I got over my shock that you were shacking up with someone like Yubaba.” Jack grinned when that comment caused Bunny to spit out his last sip.

“S - shut up, you drongo!” Jack wasn’t certain, but he thought Bunny was actually blushing.

“Oh, I know better _now_. Anyway, I decided to stick around to make sure she was taking proper care of you.”

“Proper - you came here to _check_ on me?” There was a waver in Bunny’s voice that was reminiscent of the moment when Jack had admitted he didn’t hate Bunny, in front of God and Mabel Pines. 

Jack tugged the glass from Bunny’s grip, certain the big rabbit was going to drop it if he kept letting obvious things surprise him. “Of course I did - North said you bolted less than a day after-” Jack stopped abruptly, throat closing up. He’d tried hard to avoid thinking too much about what had happened to Bunny, what had happened to him...a lot, in the past.

“After I died, you mean.”

Jack nodded rather than risk crying by opening his mouth. Simply _worrying_ about Bunny dying from his wounds had left him on the edge of panic. Knowing that Bunny _had_ succumbed to his injuries left him feeling so twisted and tight inside that it took all of Jack’s willpower not to just try to shelter Bunny from anything that might ever hurt him.

“It’s gonna happen from time to time,” Bunny replied, “and that’s what Yubaba’s for.”

“How can you say that? How can you be so - so casual about being hurt - about _dying_?”

“Because it’s what we signed on for. Every rumble could kill you.”

“I didn’t agree to sit there and act like you dying is nothing.”

“I’m not saying-” Bunny reached up, massaging his forehead, taking a deep breath before he continued. “I don’t off myself for a lark, Snowflake; it’s not a party trick. It is, however, right useful when I’m in the shit and no idea how to get out. I couldn’t outfight, outrun, or outthink Bilberry, but I could survive when nothing else could. Bilberry - he wasn’t a Pooka, you know.”

“I didn’t think.” It made Jack feel a little better about the whole mess, while feeling worse at the same time. Bunny’d been so excited to find another Pooka, even if it hadn’t meant he could resurrect his race or anything similar. Just to meet someone who understood…

But it was better the last of his people wasn’t responsible for betraying him.

“He was a Doppelganger. Shapeshifters, like the Pooka. Carnivorous. Sapiovorous.”

“Sapio-”

“They prefered intelligent prey to others.” Bunny bared his teeth - it wasn’t a smile, that was clear. “The Pooka wiped them out long ago, on House Fritillary’s request.” He grinned more gently at Jack’s confused expression. “The Constellations. North told you about those, right?”

“They were some sort of kings? Or...gods? I’ve heard him swear to the Constellations.”

Bunny shook his head. “No one really knew. They were...crikey, powerful enough to call themselves gods if they liked. But they were - fair dinkum. Something about the power made them want to help people. They were like - feudal lords, with vassals and all. Fritillary was the custodian of the Pooka. He asked us to wipe out the Doppelgangers. Did an ace job of it, except for the one. And now there’s none left.” He fell silent; Jack stepped a little closer, uncertain if he should sit next to Bunny, or if he were unwelcome.

“If you killed him, he probably deserved it.”

Bunny let out a hoarse laugh. “Oh, he did. Wanted to make little Doppel-Pookas running around hunting the human race. Still a shame, that I had to. It’s a hard thing, killing.”

“Oh.” Jack decided to heck with it, and sat next to Bunny, close enough to touch, but not quite daring. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m a soldier, you know. Rest of the army might be dead, but I’m still bound to uphold the safety and honor of the Pooka race. Which is me. And…”

Jack poked Bunny’s side. “What?”

Bunny shook his head. “Just wishful thinking.” He abruptly winced. “I hate to cut this chinwag short, but I might need an offside to the dunny.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Better than giving you sponge baths. Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Jack wasn’t quite sure what to make of Bunny’s narrow, speculative look as he helped the Pooka to his bathroom. It wasn’t bad, certainly. In the end, he had to conclude that he’d been alone so long that just getting close to someone felt weird.

And maybe Bunny felt the same.

\--

The boy woke after two days, late in the ship’s night cycle. Aster was still by his side when the boy began stirring. Panic surged; he didn’t know if he should run to get Feverfew, or stay to make sure the boy didn’t wake alone. The paralysis made his decision for him, and so the boy’s first sight was of Aster’s worried face. For the first time, Aster had a complete picture of the boy’s face, the narrow, pointed muzzle topped with bright blue eyes that took in Aster for a moment before flicking around the room. It was, Aster discovered, a habit; the boy seemed incapable of keeping his visual focus on any one thing for long.

And then the boy reached up. Aster hadn’t expected the movement, so the boy’s paw mashed up against his nose. Aster recoiled with a startled honk, and the boy laughed. It was a high, clear sound, one that had had much use, as the boy’s muzzle crinkled into a smile.

“Sorry,” the boy said between giggles. “I just had to make sure you were real.”

Aster snorted. “I don’t know what else we would be. Hallucinating a ship’s medical bay’s a strange thing to do.”

The boy shrugged. “So I’m a little weird.” He glanced around the room a little warily, ears flicking out before drooping. “This isn’t the _Thlayli_.”

“Sorry, no. This is the scout ship _Zorrah_.” Aster paused, uncertain whether he should continue, or, if so, how to do so.

But the boy, it seemed, was perceptive, or had gone through enough that he knew what to expect. “And I’m guessing you didn’t find any survivors. Or they’d be in here.”

“I’m sorry. The ship was destroyed.”

“Good,” the boy said, a little growl building up in his throat. “Mum said she’d take care of the Dream Pirates.”

“I couldn’t say for sure about all of them, but...there were a lot of ship pieces out there.”

The boy gave him a small grin, close-mouthed, the sign of someone still uncertain around strange Pooka and worried about giving offense. “So, I’m guessing you’re the one who charged in to save me from the big, bad Fearlings.”

“Ah-” Aster felt a stutter in his chest. “Not really. I mean, I’m just a cadet. It was a team effort - they did most of the fighting-”

“But they wouldn’t have come for me if it weren’t for you.”

The words were strange and knowing, and Aster shivered despite the warmth of the med bay. “How did you know that?”

And then the boy gave him a full-toothed grin, suggesting he wasn’t quite as shy as he seemed. “Hellebore U-Hrairoo, at your service.”

And that...explained quite a bit. The clan of the Thousand were keen-eyed, sharp-minded, and all possessed a little extra sight, whether of the future, the past, or even into others’ minds. And if anyone were to be in possession of something as eldritch and powerful as the Light of Creation, it would be one of them. He’d have suspected it earlier if the boy had had the trademark family red eyes.

“And what about you? Should I just call you Dashing Stranger?”

The words came slipping out automatically. “E Aster Bunnymund, officer cadet third class.” He wanted to scowl once he realized how stuffy he sounded, and that he’d opened himself up to the constant question of what, exactly, that ‘E’ stood for.

But the boy - Hellebore - just grinned wider. “Cadet Bunny, eh? A pleasure to meet you.” He reached out a hand and winced. “Ow.”

Aster’s stomach twisted as he remembered his job wasn’t chatting up the patients, it was getting Feverfew so she could treat Hellebore. “You stay there,” he commanded. “I’ll get the doctor.”

The brief respite as he hurried to Feverfew’s quarters gave Aster precious moments to reflect. Or at least stop feeling so off-balance. He wasn’t sure what it was - Hellebore’s strange insight, the fact he seemed so calm in the face of a near-death experience, or what. He was thankful when Feverfew answered her door after the first knock, although she was undressed. The pudgy, dark-furred Pooka was scowling when she answered the door, but when she saw it was Aster, her calm, professional mask slipped into place.

“What is it?”

“He’s awake - Hellebore, that is. The patient. His name’s Hellebore. I think he can read minds.”

Feverfew grinned at the last. “Well, then he can see he’s in good paws, here. Run along, I’ll be just a moment.”

And Aster hurried back, finding, when he did, that Hellebore had slipped back into slumber. When Feverfew returned, she gave the sleeping boy a fond smile before checking his vital signs again.

“Don’t sit there and worry. He’s sleeping naturally. He’ll be back up in time, and I can run all the interrogations I need. Now why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’ll just stay up a bit more. In case he wakes up again.”

Feverfew looked like she was going to argue, but then shook her head and went to retrieve a set of bedding, which she set on the next bunk over. She raised a finger to her mouth. “Don’t tell.” And then she was back to bed.

Aster set up the next bunk and settled on it, watching Hellebore’s chest rise and fall until he fell asleep.


	5. Secrets

Bunny seemed unable to stay awake more than a few minutes at a time that first day. Yubaba caught him long enough to perform whatever examination she deemed necessary, frowning thoughtfully as she did. Once Bunny had fallen asleep again, she adjourned to the kitchen with Jack. 

She waved at him to make tea, and once he was done, she gave him a stern glance. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did,” she said. “And it’s all very well and good that he’s awake, but it won’t make him _better_.”

Jack tried to ignore the blush. It had clearly been too much to hope he could pass Bunny’s recovery off as a miracle, instead of from Jack...well, kissing Bunny, even if it hadn’t been some grand, romantic gesture. “But he’s awake, now. He can eat and drink and - build up strength, right?”

“Oh, certainly. It’ll take months, you know. Through Christmas, at least.” And that made Jack’s blood run cold. Bunny tried to start his work for Easter by Halloween. Any later, and trying to finish by Easter would run him ragged. If he wasn’t well enough until Christmas, he’d never finish on time - and waning belief could make him even weaker. Yubaba gave Jack a smug smile. “You know what that means, then. Good. I hate having to explain things to dullards.” She gestured toward her mouth, and then paused, scowling. “I need a smoke.” Instead of doing so, though, she reached for her cup.

“Is there anything you can do? You said there’s better magic you can do when Bunny’s awake enough to consent.”

“Oh, maybe. I can’t say if it’ll do enough good. Really, the best magic for this sort of work requires his name - his real name. But Aster’s squirrely about his past - you know that, I’m sure.”

Jack did. But he also knew that while Bunny had shared his name with Jack, he hadn’t shared his _full_ name. Forgetting that not everyone knew his name was Aster was one thing, but Bunny had very deliberately concealed one piece of that name.

“I think…” Jack paused, suddenly aware that he was treading on dangerous territory. Yubaba was a very traditional spirit, and took offense easily. “I think if Bunny wanted you to know his name, he would have told you.”

He held his breath as Yubaba set her cup down, peering at him intently for an interminable minute. At long last, she shrugged. “Well, remember I offered.” She produced a set of bottles filled with green, red, and blue potions and set them on the table. “Make sure he takes a teaspoon apiece of these once a day - try to space them out. I’ll check in now and then to make sure he’s on the mend.” She stood and turned with a twirl of her skirts. When she reached the door she paused, looking back at Jack. There was something - a twinkle or something - in her eye. “Remember I’m always around if you need a healing touch.” And then she was gone.

When Jack began tidying up later, it was with conflicting emotions. He wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing essentially telling Yubaba to buzz off. Bunny _needed_ to get better. He didn’t have yetis or miniature fairies to help out with his work. And Jack had ruined that chance for him.

He checked in around dusk to find Bunny curled up in his little nest reading a book that hadn’t been there before.

“I could have gotten that for you.”

Bunny didn’t look up. “She’s apples.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be straining yourself. Yubaba said you might not be well enough until Christmas.”

Bunny snorted. “I’m fine.” A wide yawn prevented any more. “And that doesn’t mean anything; I’m just a bit…” He yawned again.

“And how long have you been up?”

“Just an hour. Wasn’t going to spend all arvo asleep.”

“And what did you do?”

“Got up. Got my book. Just settled down when you showed up.” Jack didn’t bother answering; Bunny’s ears drooped once he had a moment to reflect on what he’d just admitted to. “So I’m a little slow.” His chagrin shifted into a scowl. “I don’t need a nursemaid, Jackie.”

“You do. You might have fooled everyone else into thinking of you as a big, unbreakable Bunny, but I know better.” Jack stepped close to the nest, crouching down so he could meet Bunny at eye level. “I’ve seen you at your worst - nine-tenths dead with no one to look after you. And…” He paused. He knew he could be totally wrong, that the mere mention of his suspicions might enrage Bunny, end whatever had started once they’d made their truce. “I know what you think of yourself, that you’re not strong or brave or _important_ enough on your own to matter.”

Bunny’s ears flattened against his head, and something in his musculature shifted, making him look a little bigger than he was. “I’m the _Easter Bunny_. Of course I’m important!”

“Not on your own. You hate hearing that people prefer Christmas to Easter, because that’s all you think you have! And without people believing that you’re the big, bad Easter Bunny, when all you have left is what you think of yourself…” Jack trailed off, remembering the underlying sadness he’d had the moment he saw Bunny stripped of his belief, nothing more than a helpless animal. “So I don’t think you care enough about yourself to get better on your own.” He fell back, seated, next to Bunny, aware now that he was, hah, on thin ice. Beyond it even, standing in the middle of a lake with the ice falling apart underneath him.

Stomach twisted and thoughts disjointed, Jack looked to Bunny, expecting more anger, Bunny throwing him out and hurting himself more doing it. But Bunny looked...broken. His ears were drooped, not flat, and he’d abandoned his book, arms wrapped around his middle. His eyes were watery, and he wouldn’t meet Jack’s eyes.

“You and PItch’d make a fine pair,” Bunny muttered.

“He’s not my type,” Jack retorted, earning a snort from Bunny. “Oh, don’t laugh. He actually made an offer. Maybe. I don’t know. After the whole...Easter debacle, he cornered me in Antarctica, and he might have been asking for us to be...Apocalypse buddies or whatever, but the way he _sounded_...”

“What? He…” Bunny had risen a bit, something of the abject misery leaving him as he gave Jack a wide-eyed, still moist look, still looking lost, but not so much hurt. “You didn’t go with him? After I...yelled…”

“Aw, Bunny. I know you did it because you care. And you do. It’s amazing, seeing how much you put into all of this. You don’t have an army of yetis like North, or flocks of little fairies, or magic sand, and you _still_ do all of this. All for those little looks of wonder on Easter morning.” And that caused a twinge of guilt; Easter might not be happening this year because of Jack. _Again_.

He took a deep breath. “And you wanna know something? I always liked Easter better than Christmas, anyway.”

The response to that was a sharp word in a language Jack couldn’t place. In fact, Bunny was nearly incomprehensible for a few seconds before he returned to English - well, Australian. “-suck of the sav, mate! _Everybody_ likes North and his prezzies. _I’d_ like him better if I didn’t have to!”

Jack shrugged. “I didn’t remember it for a while, but I grew up Puritan. Christmas was always a bit of a...well, we didn’t celebrate it. Or read the Bible quietly for it. We read the Bible for Easter, too, but it was a bit more celebratory.” He didn’t mention his mother would likely not have approved with him associating with essentially a pagan spirit of spring. She wouldn’t approve of him sitting here refusing to own up to what he’d done, either, though. And it seemed like the best time to mention it, when Bunny was looking at him with a look of such...well, wonder, so he might not get _as_ mad.

“And I’m sorry. For ruining Easter.”

“I thought we agreed to drop ‘68? Or are you still worried about Pitch? No worries-”

“No. _This_ Easter. Yubaba said you might not be better until Christmas, unless she could use some strong magic she has, but she needed your name, your _real_ name, and she wanted me to find it out, but I told her - well, to shove it. Politely.”

“You told Yubaba to _shove it_?”

“ _Politely_.”

And then Bunny was laughing, doubled over as he howled in glee. It was amazing, hearing that sound without cheating with a snowball. It always felt more honest when Jack got people with actual _fun_ , rather than magic. And it was better for being Bunny, who Jack had been afraid he’d _broken_ , accusing him of being desperately miserable and lacking any sense of self-worth.

“It’s been _years_ since someone did that, and _she_ had Yubaba’s own sister _and_ kid on her side!” Bunny descended into another fit of laughter. Jack was actually beginning to worry he’d _actually_ broken Bunny, but the Pooka’s laughter eventually died down. He was smiling, though, and watching Jack with an intensity that made his insides feel weirdly knotted.

“But I...didn’t you hear what I said? I told her she couldn’t help you.”

“Naw. You told her to keep her nose out of my business.” Bunny paused. “Wait. You’re actually - didn’t anyone ever teach you about Yubaba?”

“I know she’s powerful, and she runs that bathhouse for spirits. I didn’t know she did house calls.”

“But no one - strewth, we’ve been _terrible_ at keeping you in the loop. Snowflake, Yubaba enslaves people by taking their names.”

“So if I’d told her…”

Bunny snorted. “No worries, Jackie. Whether anyone told you or not, you’ve got good instincts. I’d prefer keeping Easter _out_ of her hands.”

“But if you don’t get better-”

“I’ll manage.”

“By working yourself half to death, or _worse_. No, you clearly need help. Lucky I’ve got a good hand with a paintbrush.”

“Wait, what?”

\--

Now that Hellebore was awake, Aster was returned to his normal duties, which meant he could spend about an hour a day near Hellebore. The boy was about a year younger than Aster, so it was easier to talk with him than most of the soldiers. And Commander Statice had suggested strongly it would be to Aster’s benefit to get some useful answers out of Hellebore. _Thlayli_ wasn’t a military vessel; it was actually House Fritillary’s ship. Regardless, it made its purpose a mystery.

It made Aster feel oddly guilty when talking to Hellebore.

Hellebore laughed when he drew that tidbit out of Aster, poking him in the side. “What, are you going to share all of my embarrassing secrets with them? I just…” He trailed off, sobering before continuing. “It’s hard to talk about. If I can tell you, and don’t have to talk about it again…well, we’d be 2 and 0. My knight in shining armor.”

Aster snorted, trying to conceal the lightness in his chest. “I think they mostly want to know what you were doing in deep Fearling space with the Light of Creation.”

Hellebore shook his head. “I don’t even know. I think my mom was trying to study them, track them back to the place they came from.” His jaw twitched a little. “I think...she believed there was some hint to getting rid of them for good there.”

“Wait.” Aster tried to fit Hellebore’s words into some sort of sense. “You think the Fearlings come from...there?”

“Everything has to come from somewhere,” Hellebore muttered with a shrug. “And House Illuminov fell long before we knew the Fearlings were a threat.” He shuddered. “There weren’t any bodies inside.”

Aster had to fight back a shudder of his own. Standard procedure fighting against Fearlings involved soldiers armed with sidearms - useless against the Fearlings, but useful for preventing a colleague from being condemned to a long, slow slide into darkness. Hellebore was right - a place where no one had been armed with such knowledge showed either monstrous overconfidence, or inability to conceive of a foe that could consume you from the inside out.

Hellebore sniffed, drawing Aster’s attention to see the other boy fighting back tears, face wrinkling to hold them back from his eyes.

“Hellebore?”

“It’s pointless,” Hellebore muttered. “She’s dead, and I didn’t see anything in there that would help. Only…” He shook his head suddenly. “I don’t think there’s any hope anymore.”

And wasn’t that the worry they all had nowadays? With only one of the Constellations left, most governments in ruins, and the Fearlings guided by the most brilliant tactical mind in history, everyone with any sense worried that there wasn’t any coming back from that.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“What?” Hellebore glanced up, eyes now freely streaming and nose snotty. “Is sympathy something Pooka soldiers don’t do?”

“I begged Commander Statice to go down there on the slightest _chance_ there was a survivor. We fought for _hours_ trying to track down whoever had been in that escape pod. And do you know what we got out of all that effort?”

“The Light of Creation,” Hellebore muttered.

“And _you_. You’re safe and alive because you never gave up. And maybe we’ll all die tomorrow - but here and now we’re _alive_.” Hellebore’s incredulous glance gave Aster a flutter in his stomach; it reminded him that he’d resigned himself to a warrior’s life knowing that he was working to help people. “Look, I know you’re shaken up by what went on down there-”

“I still don’t know what _did_ go on. I think I was visited by a ghost, and the things I saw…”

“A ghost?”

“A Pooka spirit or something. He kept yelling at me. I might have gotten eaten by Fearlings if he hadn’t pushed me to get out of there.”

“A Pooka...El-Ahrairah?”

Hellebore, who’d been fiddling with the sheets of his bunk, stopped and looked up at Aster, eyes wide. His nose twitched a few times as he considered. “That would...make a lot of sense. It...was pretty much like the stories said. Except he’s sort of pushy.” He blinked and then gave a full-body twitch. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“It’ll be our secret.”

Hellebore grinned. “Thanks, Bunny.”

“You _can_ call me Aster.”

“No way,” Hellebore retorted, wrinkling his nose. “Who calls someone by their _middle_ name? Besides, I like the sound of ‘Bunny’. Now, if you decided to tell me what that ‘E’ stands for…”

“I’d rather you call me Bunny.”

“Aww.” Hellebore rocked up, almost on his feet, to lean over Aster. “It can’t be that bad. It’s not like your name is Elil, or Embreer, or-”

“It’s Echinacea,” Aster blurted, stopping Hellebore full-tilt.

Hellebore paused, rolling the name around in his mouth, before he offered Aster a wide, close-mouthed smile, with none of the toothiness that always made him look like he was up to something. “Sure, it’s a little unusual, but it’s a nice name. Not,” he said, raising a finger, “as fun as Bunny, so I’ll stick with that.” He paused, frowning. “If you don’t mind.”

“ _Anything’s_ better than my first name.”

Hellebore shrugged. “I guess. I always liked the story of Echinacea. But if you’re sure, it’ll be Bunny.” He grinned again and fell back to sitting on the bed. “You can call me Helle, if you want.”

“I might, at that.”


	6. Conclusions

Yubaba did check in from time to time, making pointed comments about Bunny’s health while Jack made faces at her behind her back. Her dire predictions proved true; Bunny was languishing through most of November, getting better by inches so long as he didn’t over-exert himself.

They reached a truce, eventually. This early, the major concern was making sure the eggs were growing well, so once Jack proved he could tend to the plants without freezing them solid, he could convince Bunny to supervise while he did the actual yardwork.

One morning - Thanksgiving morning, in fact - Bunny looked up from one of the books Jack had permitted him while he rested near the garden. “When was the last time you left the Warren?”

Jack shrugged. “A while. Why? Sick of me already?”

“Buckley’s chance, mate. But it’s...winter, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you got a job, mate! You can’t afford to sit around playing nursemaid while you’ve got a season to run.”

“I can afford to lose a little belief; _you_ can’t.” Jack paused in his weeding to point an accusatory finger at Bunny. “Noble intentions or not, you died - twice, if Yubaba’s right - and you’re still recuperating.”

“I’m not-” Bunny struggled to his feet, stalking over to Jack’s side. “You don’t have to sit here with me all the time. Wait…” He knelt, awkwardly, so he could meet Jack’s eye. “Have you been _sleeping_ here? Does anyone know you’re here?”

Jack scowled and tossed the weeds aside. “Yubaba does. And I can _handle_ this, Bunny. So maybe it’s a warm winter. Maybe a few people stop believing. It’ll be _fine_!” Bunny didn’t immediately respond, but Jack could see a twitch in his jaw suggesting Bunny wanted to except for fear of offending Jack. It meant Bunny was reaching his breaking point. It might even mean there was a real reason he was worried, one no one had ever bothered to tell Jack. “Would it make you feel better if I took the nights off? Get the snowstorms out of the way?”

Bunny’s face wrinkled up in consternation. He still didn’t look happy, so Jack dragged Bunny back to sit and dropped down next to him. He poked the Pooka in the side. “I thought you wanted to get me out of your fur.”

“I don’t want you gone, Snowflake. Having you around helping has been...you might be a larrikin, but you’ve got a good heart. And you’ve been a right help. I just...remember what it’s like not being believed in. I don’t want you having to go through that again.”

“Aw, Bunny, you _do_ care.” Jack leaned heavily into Bunny, at least until the Pooka shoved him off, laughing. “And I might be inclined to take some time off for the kids, too...as long as you promise not to push yourself when I’m gone.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Bunny snapped, before he paused, scratching at an ear. “But...I suppose it’s a bit boring doing work around here without your yabbering.”

Jack grinned and wrapped his arms around Bunny, earning a shocked squeak from the Pooka. “Aw, admit it, Bunny, you love me!”

“Gerrof, you whacker!” Bunny shoved him off, but Jack could see the upward turn on his mouth. “Though you’re not half bad, Snowflake. A bit of a showpony, but I guess it comes with the territory.”

Jack stuck out his tongue at Bunny, because the moment called for it. “So...I’ll jet once I’ve got this done, and then later you can show me how to paint these things.”

When Jack found Jamie, he was flat on his back in his backyard, although the sight of Jack made him bolt straight up, grinning. “Jack! Where’ve you been, dude? We missed you!”

Jack tried to ignore the twinge of guilt, coming to circle around Jamie slowly. “Well, you remember I told you we kicked Pitch’s butt?”

“Yeah! I was e-mailing that girl - Mabel - from the videos, and she told us all about it. Can Bunny really hulk out like she said?”

“Only if he gets mad enough. But hey, you’ve been e-mailing girls? Do I sense a budding romance?” Jamie was...thirteen or fourteen at this point, he thought; it would make sense.

“Ew, no!” Jamie laughed. “She’s just the one who answered my messages. Apparently, they’ve had to deal with real scary stuff out there. She said...something bad happened to Bunny?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, he got hurt pretty bad. It’s actually why I’ve been out of commission; I was helping this witch nurse him back to health.” Jamie snorted; Jack dropped and tapped the top of his head with the staff, frosting over Jamie’s hair in an instant. When Jamie glanced back up, Jack glared at him. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry.” Jamie raised a hand to hide a smile. “I mean, I’m sorry he got hurt, but he’s okay now, right? But then you said you were nursing him, and I thought of you in one of those little striped outfits-” He snickered, and yeah, Jack could see the amusement. Bright colors made him look ridiculous.

“He is okay, though, right?”

“He will be. I’ve been keeping him from running himself ragged trying to do everything he needs to for Easter. So I’m afraid it’s going to be a mild winter this year.”

Jamie frowned; Jack dropped down a little to put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m still going to try to get out for the occasional snow day, but-”

“No, I get it. Bunny’s your friend. But...doesn’t he have anyone to take care of him?”

“Nope.” Jack dropped full to the ground, because it was hard to stay focused and flying at the same time. “He’s a big lonely, grumpy bunny. It’s why he needs me around to keep things light.”

“Bunny?” Jack glanced up; a wide-eyed blond child stood at the back door. “Is Hop-Hop okay?”

“Sure he is, Sophie.” Jack hopped up and glided to her side. “I’ve been taking good care of him.”

“Hmph.” She folded her arms. “He should have a Mrs. Bunny to do that.” After a moment, she tugged at a lock of her hair. “Or a Mr. Bunny. Doctor Phelps at school says we need to be open-minded.”

“Open-minded, huh?” Jack ruffled her hair, earning an indignant squeak from Sophie. “That’s an awfully big concept for a five-year-old.”

“I’m _six_! And Doctor Phelps says it’s never too early to start respecting people for their individual differences!”

Jack glanced at Jamie, who shrugged. “The administrators got big on tolerance recently. I think there was a state conference or something.”

“Well, Sophie’s right. If there _were_ a Mr. Bunny - aside from the one we’ve got - we should be happy for them. Unfortunately, there’s not much chance of that.”

“What? Why?” 

Jack realized a moment too late that tales of universal genocide probably weren’t appropriate for a six-year-old. Unfortunately, it was a little late to cover up.

“I think Bunny wants another giant rabbit, and there aren’t too many of those left anymore. A...lot of people died fighting the Fearlings, including most of his people.”

“Oh.” Sophie frowned, tugging at her hair with both hands absent-mindedly. “Do you think he might want a hug?”

“He lost everyone he cared about, Sophie; it’s not going to make things magically better,” Jamie retorted.

“But a visit from his favorite little girl couldn’t hurt.” Jack grinned at Sophie and swiped his finger across his throat over her head at Jamie, warning him to cut it out. “I’m going to start helping him paint eggs this weekend; do you want to come by then?”

“Yes!”

Carrying this little secret with him, Jack returned (eventually) to the Warren, where he found Bunny washing dishes. He couldn’t tell if it was scent or sound or what, but Bunny’s ears twitched and he turned to Jack before he could consider sneaking up on the Pooka.

“How did you get in here?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Trickster. The only thing harder to keep out of a house is a cat.”

“I was considering giving you a key, but if you’d rather sneak around and break in…”

“What, like Yubaba’s got?”

“I gave her a password, like when I call North over. I meant a _key_ , so you don’t have to drag yourself down under just for a chinwag.”

“Really?” Jack ducked around Bunny to grab him in a tight hug. “I can come over whenever I want? Even if it’s just to bother you?”

“I wouldn’t give you a way to get in here whenever you wanted if I wanted to keep you out, Jackie.”

“Aw, you really _do_ love me!”

“Either that, or I’ve lost my damn mind.”

Jack would take that as a win.

\--

Commander Statice had ordered the _Zorrah_ to explore the immediate surroundings for signs of Dream Pirate bases or other activity. Their ships were a common means of conveying Fearlings between the stars, a horrific symbiotic relationship. It would explain what Dream Pirates might have been doing near the ruined home of House Illuminov, there to protect the Fearlings and, if necessary, ferry them to other realms.

As a result, they were still within hailing distance of the ruined castle when Commander Statice called a meeting of all personnel and passengers. Aster escorted Hellebore nominally as part of his duties as a grunt, but mostly because an all-hands meeting was nothing good, and he needed a friend.

Commander Statice wasn’t present, not until everyone was assembled in the chairs of the largest conference room. When she did appear, the ten-foot tall, grey-furred Pooka, a wide, imposing figure that bore the scars and weariness of a lifetime of war. Aster’s hand drifted toward Hellebore’s, and he squeezed gently, relieved when he received a responding squeeze.

“I’ve called this meeting to share a report we received through the coms an hour ago. House Lunanoff has fallen; the Tsar and Tsarina are dead and their son missing. We’re scrambling. Every hand is being recalled home. We should begin our jump in a few moments-”

The ship rocked violently; the commander stumbled, only the podium keeping her from losing her footing entirely. “Everyone keep calm!” She grabbed at her communicator. “What’s going on up there?”

She raised a paw to her ear, a response likely coming through her earbuds, and then nodded. “Everyone take battle stations. A Dream Pirate Dreadnaught dropped out of tunnel space next to us. Prioritize disabling them long enough to get back out ourselves. I need all civilians in sick bay. Go!”

Everyone else leapt to follow her orders; Aster turned to Hellebore. The boy’s eyes were pale and distant; Aster shook him gently, hoping it would release Hellebore from whatever memory had taken hold of him.

“Hellebore, Helle-”

Hellebore ripped his locket from around his neck and shoved it into Aster’s paw. “Take it, Cadet Bunny.”

“What?”

“It’s a tool, not a weapon, but in the right hands - it’s better than a starlight blade.”

Aster shook his head. “You heard Statice. It’s a Dream Pirate ship-”

“Manned by nightmares,” Hellebore murmured. The air seemed to chill and the light dim. Around them, people slowed, confused. “They don’t need the Dream Pirates anymore.” Eerie sounds echoed through the ship, causing everyone in sight to freeze, likely because the noises grabbed the base of the spine and sent a shock of formless panic up through the chest, leaving the body an empty shell.

“What was that?”

“There’s no limits, anymore,” Hellebore babbled. “We’ve got to get out of here-”

It was the most sense the other boy had made since Statice’s announcement; if it was possible, Aster should get the civilians off the ship. He lunged to his feet, dragging Hellebore behind him, and the Light of Creation still clutched in his free paw. The dark and chill intensified as they ran; a distant scream gave Aster pause, but this time, it was Hellebore that dragged him on.

“I’ve got to go back and fight-”

“We’ve got to get _out_ of here!”

Aster stumbled after Hellebore for a few steps before he caught his balance again, but took to lead once he did. Hellebore was half-right. They burst into the hangar a moment before the alarms started in full force.

“What-”

“We’ve been boarded,” Aster said absent-mindedly as he led Hellebore toward the escape pods. “I’ve got a few destinations in mind, but I can’t guarantee any of them will be safe.”

“What, is Cadet Bunny afraid he can’t keep me safe?” A grin flickered across Hellebore’s mouth, but it seemed forced.

Aster swallowed, uncertain how to respond. “I’m only one Pooka.” He bent over the nearest console rather than meet Hellebore’s eyes. “Now, any thoughts?”

“Three-zero-zero, eight-seven-two, four-eight-seven dead reckoning.”

“Where’d you learn astro-navigation?”

“What?” Hellebore drifted closer. “I didn’t say anything.”

Aster looked back at Hellebore, ready with an annoyed retort, but stopped when he saw a short, slender Pooka, auburn furred and red eyed. The Pooka raised one finger to his mouth, and gave Aster a wry grin.

“Sorry,” Aster muttered. “Never mind. I’ve got an idea. Get in.” He pressed a paw against the screen of the small console, and one of the egg-shaped escape pods slid open. “I’ll handle the navigation.” Aster entered the coordinates into the console, surprised to discover the destination was a dark sector, a place far beyond anywhere claimed by the Constellations.

“It’s going to be a little cramped in here, but I don’t mind if you don’t!”

“Yeah, these aren’t really designed for two.” Aster entered another command and the escape pod closed.

“What are you doing, Bunny? Bunny?” Hellebore slammed on the inner wall. “Aster!”

“I can’t abandon my duty, Hellebore. When this is all over, I’ll find you. But right now, I have to _fight_.”

Aster turned away from the escape pod to face the brown-furred Pooka. He met the other’s red eyes evenly, trying to keep from looking as skittish as he felt. “Who are you?”

The other Pooka smirked, with just a hint of teeth. “Come on, now. You’re trapped in a corner, no way out. And hint: I’m _not_ the Black Shadow of Inle.”

“El-ahrairah.” It felt strange addressing that name to an actual Pooka, stranger to realize he’d entered the sort of fairy-tale where El-ahrairah appeared to people. “What…”

“My people are dying,” El-ahrairah said. “And worse. You don’t need to be able to feel it to know it.”

“And you want me to save them?” The question had started out mocking, but by the end of it, Aster’s stomach was in knots, heart fluttering at the thought that El-ahrairah wanted him, a runt, a cadet, to save the Pooka-

“If I knew how to save them, I’d have shown up a lot earlier than this. No, this is what we call a contingency plan.” Behind Aster, the escape pod was jettisoned into space, followed a moment later by the telltale boom of a ship entering a warp. Something about the sound was...off, though.

Aster shot El-ahrairah a sharp glare. “And what about him?”

“You have a thousand enemies,” El-ahrairah said. “And if they catch you, they will _kill_ you. Many Pooka believe this is an exhortation to run, to hide, to use your wits to escape danger. This...is Hellebore’s path. He will be safe from the Fearlings...at least if you do your job.”

“And that is?”

El-ahrairah gave Aster a long, level stare, one that made him feel about twelve years old again, being lectured by his father. “ _Think_ , boy. You’ve got a beacon that’ll call every Fearling within a thousand miles to you. A tool, yes, but so’s a hammer. So’s an axe.” When Aster didn’t reply, Al-ahrairah sighed. “When a Pooka’s cornered, when there’s nowhere to run or hide, they don’t just _let_ themselves be caught. And if in the end, they die, their foes will remember that day forever as the hardest-fought battle of their lives.”

Aster took a deep breath. “I think you’ve got the wrong Pooka. I’ve never been a good fighter. And I still get lost during my kata.”

“You need to get into a new mindset, kid. Do you think you can fight the Fearlings when you’re afraid? No.”

Aster shook his head, breath coming hard as he did so. “I don’t think I can stay calm right now.”

“Calm? Who said you needed to stay calm? I’m going to teach you the ancient art of the Pooka Battle Fury.”


	7. Epilogue

There were few survivors of that first battle - many decided to take their own lives when they were cornered. Aster spent most of that time with his senses and memory blurred by rage. Much of the last phase of the war went like that; only in retrospect did Aster realize he must have used the battle rage to keep himself going, to ignore the growing loneliness as his allies died one by one, as the Fearlings, though dwindling, wiped the accomplishments of the Golden Age from history.

The rage, and the coordinates of a place far from the world engulfed in darkness, where another Pooka still lived.

It was meaningless to ask how long the fighting dragged on. The vagaries of interstellar travel warped time and space in strange ways. Some battles took place long before the war ever started, and some near the very end of time. And through all of it, Aster survived, not by running and hiding, but by embracing the fury at the injustice of it all and focusing it through the Light of Creation to shred the Fearlings to ribbons.

And with a beacon shining the light through the entire universe, he had no shortage of foes to fight.

He ran into Pitch several times, and each left them both a little worse for wear.

Much less, Aster found, than he expected.

The Light of Creation had had a hand in the creation of the Constellations. He wondered if by carrying it for so long, it had done something to him. Changed him.

Time certainly had. Aster grew - wider and stronger, he found, to his chagrin, rather than taller. And the battles grew both easier and scarcer. He almost began to believe the war was ending, that for all the lives that had been taken, the Fearlings had been thinned enough that they would no longer plague the universe.

And then he found the palace of the Lunanoff family. Having fought both Fearlings and Dream Pirates, he recognized it as in worse condition than the Illuminov fortress, but it awoke painful memories of the few days before the fall of the Golden Age.

The place was dead, in every way, full of the bodies both of those who fell to the Pirates and those who managed to choose their death. And, by some miracle, a single living guard, a man of Pitch’s race, bleeding and hidden in a back room.

Meeting that man shaped Aster’s destiny, because in his last moments, he revealed that House Lunanoff had not fallen. The Tsar’s child had escaped, sent to a place far from the reaches of the war. But Pitch had discovered this secret in some battle after the siege of House Lunanoff, and was in pursuit.

If Aster had ever doubted that El-Ahrairah had appeared to him, the revelation of the child Lunanoff’s destination would have changed that.

Three-zero-zero, eight-seven-two, four-eight-seven dead reckoning.

El-Ahrairah had promised Hellebore would be safe if Aster did his job. It seemed that had been both a promise _and_ a threat. Even if Aster had not nurtured his fury at Pitch and the Fearlings until it burned beyond his control into a _need_ to fight them, he would have pushed his ship to the absolute limit to get to Hellebore, the infant Lunanoff, and Pitch,

But time moved strangely when one used the warp ships of the Golden Age. It was some cosmic joke, Aster decided, when he arrived at a young planet, unshaped and fluid.

Or, he concluded eventually, part of some larger plan.

Because Aster had arrived at a young planet, the destination of the last scion of House Lunanoff, long before either the child, or his pursuer. He was free to pour his heart and soul into shaping this world, free to bury the Light of Creation far beyond Pitch’s reach, and free to realize that he could barely remember an emotion other than rage.

It persisted through the Ice Age, through watching the birth of a race that looked so much like Pitch it sent his nerves jangling. And then one day he stepped into a field of flowering plants, and the boundless fury faltered...and paused.

He was lonely, he knew, as he worked to shape the things that bloomed across the planet Earth as he had the Earth itself, and tending to other living things helped ease some of it. Among all of it, Lunanoff arrived, pursued by Pitch, and the man was sealed away, and it seemed that the war might finally be over.

His rage had sustained him for so long. But now there was only one thing he could hold onto anymore. Time moved strangely when one used the warp drives of the Golden Age, and El-Ahrairah had promised Hellebore would be safe from the Fearlings. Someday he would arrive, and Aster wouldn’t be alone anymore.

He found other wonders he’d never hoped for on this planet, but it was that singular hope that had made him the Pooka he was today.

\--

What muscles weren’t simply sore screamed with any attempt Hellebore made to move them, and the sticky moisture of his makeshift bed suggested there was probably more blood outside his body than he’d like.

A hiss suggested the pod was opened; a few painful breaths confirmed he was somewhere with a breathable atmosphere, which meant he was at least as good off as when he’d woken in the palace of House Illuminov.

“Why - it’s just a boy!” The voice was gentle but firm.

Another voice, deeper, gruffer, replied. “Or something in the shape of one. He looks like a rabbit - likely a fairy or worse.”

“Tch. He’s hurt. And our Lord never said our neighbors needed to be men of this world. Truth, I suspect He would counsel us to show charity to the Devil, if it might show some signs of redeeming him.”

“Well, demon or no, I’ll need to take a little more time hunting to make sure we won’t starve.” Something shifted beneath Hellebore, and someone lifted him from his seat. It hurt no more than lying there, and he wasn’t certain he could escape, or even protest, otherwise.

“I am certain the Lord will provide - provided you are clever enough to take advantage. Come on; let’s get him somewhere warm. If he’s anything like a real rabbit, that’s a summer coat, and he must be freezing.”

It seemed Hellebore’s luck had carried him through another disaster, albeit alone again. But Aster had promised to check in when the war was over, so that was something to look forward to once he had the energy to keep his eyes open again.

He’d probably be General Bunny by then. A smile quirked up the edge of Hellebore’s mouth as he slipped back into dreaming, and his rescuers carried him to safety.


End file.
